John Dalmas - The Lion Returns

The Lion Returns

John Dalmas

Dedicated toELIZABETH MOON

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Parts of the first draft were critiqued by members of theSpokane Word Weavers, a writers' support and

critique group. The second draft was critiqued by two science fiction and fantasy authors: Patricia Briggs

and James Glass. And as always by my wife Gail. My thanks to all of you.

The Farside series grew out of an invitation by Jon Gustafson to write a short story for a WesterCon

program book a few years ago. I rather quickly realized it was not a short story, but the opening chapter

of a novel. Thank you too, Jon.

PROLOG

The distance across theOceanSea to Vismearc is said to exceed that from fabled Tuago to the River

Erg. It took fifty-eight days and nights to sail across, and fifty to return. Of the four ships that set out, only

one came back, and very fortunate its mariners, for those days and nights were beset with storms, and

sea dragons with necks like mighty snakes. The larger of them snapped men from the deck. And there

were monstrous eels whose very stare was venomous, but fortunately they were rarely seen.

And when the sea had finally been crossed, Vismearc itself proved no less dangerous. Great birds dwell

there, their hearts as black as their plumage. They are more clever than a man, and large enough to carry

a sheep through the air. The women in Vismearc birth many children, in order to have any left after the

birds have taken what they wish. Several birds together would attack a man and clean his bones in

minutes, so that no one walked out alone, even to relieve himself. While one man voided his bowels,

another stood by, sword in hand, to protect him. And there are bees large as sparrows, that make honey

of surpassing sweetness, but a single sting causes men to swell like bladders, and die horribly.

But most terrible of all are the hordes of savage warriors no higher in stature than the nipples of a man.

Short of leg but long of arm, they have bodies of stone, the strength of giants, and no concept of mercy.

Yet it was for Vismearc the Ylver set sail from their island home, those centuries back. For though their

mariners had read of the terrors they would face, their fear of the Voitusotar was greater. And no man

knows whether any of them arrived in that frightful land, or if they arrived, whether any of their progeny

yet live.

Oiled parchment found in the archives ofHwilvorosPalace .

PART ONE—THE PLANS OF MEN

The physical universes are not designed for the convenience or pleasure of humans or other incarnate

souls. Intelligence, diligence, and good intentions do not necessarily produce security, comfort and

pleasure. There are no guarantees.

One can try and one can hope, but one's expectations are often disappointed. On the other hand,

today's victories sometimes lead to tomorrow's woes, while out of today's woes may grow tomorrow's

blessings. The roots of joys and griefs can be distant in both time and place. So it is well to be light on

your feet, and not too fixed in your desires.

Vulkan to Macurdy, on the highway to Teklapori

in the spring of 1950

1

Leave

«^»

Captain Curtis Macurdy's train pulled slowly up to the red sandstone depot. Through a window he saw

his wife on the platform, flowerlike in a pink print frock. Without waiting for the train to stop, he moved

quickly down the nearly empty aisle, grabbed his duffel bag from a baggage shelf, and when the door

opened, swung down the stairs onto the gray concrete.

Mary saw him at once, and crying his name, ran toward him. Putting down his bag, he caught her in his

arms and they kissed hungrily, while the handful of other disembarking passengers grinned or looked

away. It was Thursday, June 1, 1945. Servicemen on leave were commonplace.

"You taste marvelous," he murmured. "You smell marvelous."

She laughed despite eyes brimming with tears. "That's perfume," she said, then added playfully, "Evening

inParis ." She looked around. The air was damp and heavy; smoke from the coal-burning locomotive

settled instead of rising. "Perfume and coal smoke," she added laughing. "And soot."

He picked up his bag again and they walked hand in hand to the car. It was she who got in behind the

wheel. That had become habitual. He got in beside her, feasting his eyes.

"Hungry?" she asked.

"For food you mean? Yeah, I guess I am. I had breakfast on the train somewhere west of Pendleton,

and a Hershey bar at the station inPortland ."

He knew from her letters that she'd moved out of her father's house and rented the apartment above

Sweiger's Cafe. He was curious as to why, but hadn't asked. She'd tell him in her own time. She pulled

up in front, and they went into the cafe for lunch.

Ruthie Sweiger saw them take a booth, and came over with menus. "Look who's here!" she said. "How

long has it been?"

He answered in German, as he would have before the war. "Not quite three years. July '42."

Her eyebrows rose, and she replied in the same language. "Your German sounds really old-country

now. You put me to shame."

"It should sound old-country." He said it without elaborating.

"Curtis," Mary said quietly in her Baltisches Deutsch, "people are looking at us."

He glanced over a shoulder. At a table, two men were scowling in their direction. Curtis got to his feet

facing them, standing six feet two and weighing 230 pounds. One side of his chest bore rows of ribbons,

topped by airborne wings and a combat infantry badge. Grinning from beneath a long-since-broken nose,

he walked over to them.

"Do I know you guys from somewhere?"

"I don't think so," one of them answered, rising. "We came over fromIdaho last year. We log for the

Severtson brothers."

Macurdy extended a large hand. "My name's Curtis Macurdy. I used to log for the Severtsons, before I

joined the sheriff's department. With luck, I'll be back for good before too long."

Both men shook hands with him, self-conscious now, and Curtis returned to the booth, grinning again.

"A little public relations for the sheriff's department," he said, in German again. "And food for thought

about people speaking German."

Ruthie left to bring coffee, then took their orders. While they waited, Curtis and Mary made small talk,

and looked at each other. Curtis felt her stockinged foot stroke his leg. When their food arrived, they ate

quickly, without even refills on coffee. Then Curtis paid the bill and they left. They held hands up the

narrow stairs to her apartment, and when Mary closed the door behind them, she set the bolt.

For a long moment they simply stood, gazing at each other. Then they stepped together and kissed, with

more fervor than at the depot.

Finally Mary stepped back and spoke, her voice husky. "The bedroom," she said pointing, "is over

there. I am going to the bathroom, which is over there." Again she pointed. "When I'm done there, I'm

going there. Which is where I want you to be."

After a couple of minutes she arrived at the final there. He was standing naked by the bed. She wore

only a negligée, and as she walked toward him, dropped it to the floor.

"Oh God, Curtis!" she breathed in his arms. "Oh God, how I want you! How I've wanted you these

three long years!"

Their first lovemaking was quick, almost desperate. Afterward they lay side by side talking, talk which

was not quick at all.

There was much he hadn't written; much of it would have been deleted by military censors if he had.

And things she hadn't written, not wanting to send bad news.

He knew of course that Klara, Mary's grandmother, had died of a heart attack the previous autumn.

He'd gotten that letter while inFrance , training dissident Germans to carry out sabotage and other

partisan actions in Hitlers planned "National Redoubt." And he knew that Mary's dad, Fritzi, had married

after Klara's death.

Mary had moved out of her father's home because she hadn't gotten along with Margaret, Fritzis wife.

Margaret was basically a good woman, Mary insisted, but bossy and critical, in the kitchen and about the

housework. And insisted that Mary, as "her daughter," attend church regularly with Fritzi and herself.

Even though Mary was thirty years old, and been married for twelve of them. The matter of church

attendance was Margaret's only position that Fritzi had overruled—previously his own attendance had

been fitful—and Margaret had backed off without saying anything more about it.

Mary's uncle, Wiiri Saari, owned several rental houses. Lying there on the rumpled bedsheets, the young

couple decided to let Wiiri know that when Curtis got out of the army, they'd like to rent one of them.

Curtis suggested they spend the rest of his leave on the coast south ofTillamook Bay , where they'd

spent part of his leave in 1942. Mary agreed eagerly. She'd already gotten a week's leave from her job at

Wiiri's machine shop. She could probably get it extended.

With a slim finger, Mary followed a long scar on Curtis's right thigh. "I wish—" she said hesitantly, "I

wish you didn't have to go back. Mostly I felt sure you'd come home, but sometimes I wasn't very brave.

I was so afraid for you. And the Japanese? People say they won't give up, that they'll fight to the bitter

end. And you're dearer to me than my own life."

Curtis kissed her gently. "Don't worry," he said, "I won't have to fight the Japanese." He paused, sorting

his thoughts. When he spoke again, it was in a monotone, all emotion suppressed. "I was never in

ETOUSA; that was a lie, a cover story. In the hospital inEngland , while I was recuperating, I was

recruited by theOSS , because I spoke German well. Railroaded is the word. After they trained me, they

smuggled me intoGermany on a spy mission. InBavaria I lived with people I had to kill. Kill for good

reasons."

He stopped talking for a long moment. Mary looked worriedly at him, waiting, knowing he wasn't done.

"People I saw every day," he went on. "One of them especially I knew and liked; I had to shoot him in

the back. Another I killed treacherously, while he was shaking my hand. I needed to kidnap him, but first

I had to make him unconscious, and … sometimes you misjudge how much force to use. You can't

afford to use too little."

He paused, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'll tell you more about those things sometime."

Again he paused. "Those ribbons on my Ike jacket—they include the Distinguished Service Cross, the

next highest decoration after the Medal of Honor. That one's fromSicily . I almost bled to death there.

One of the two silver stars is fromBavaria ; they're one step below the DSC. You can read the

commendations that go with them."

He reached, touched her solemn face. Her aura matched her expression. This wasn't easy for her, he

knew, but she needed to hear it. "Anyway I'm done with war now," he went on. "For good. It may not

be patriotic to feel that way, but I'm done with it. I'll tell you more about that too, someday. It's not only

this war. It's stuff from before. From Yuulith, stuff I saw and did there that I never told you about."

With his fingertips he felt the rugged scars of his buttocks, and his voice took on a tone of wry

amusement. "This," he said, then ran a finger along the longest of the surgical scars on his right leg, "and

these will help me stay out of it. Among the things I did to get ready forGermany was, I practiced walking

with a limp. Till it was automatic. Along with my scars, and pretending to be weak-minded, the limp

explained why I wasn't in the German army. And kept me out of it while I was there."

Again his voice changed, became dry, matter-of-fact. "I'm due to report at the Pentagon on June 19.

When I get there I'll be limping, just a little. And no one will question it; my medical records will take care

of that. At worst they'll have me training guys somewhere."

That evening they ate supper with Fritzi and Margaret. Margaret questioned him about the war, his

family, his plans. His answers were less than candid; her aura, her tone, her eyes, told him she was

looking for things to disapprove of. He felt a powerful urge to shock her, tell her about his weird AWOL

atOujda , in French Morocco. About the voitar and the Bavarian Gate; the promiscuous Berta Stark,

now a good wife and foster mother; the sexually ravenous, half-voitik Rillissa; the sorceries in Schloss

Tannenberg.

Instead he recited generalities.

Afterward he told Mary that Margaret might be good to Fritzi, but he himself wouldn't care to be around

her. Though he didn't say so, he was aware that Fritzi was having regrets. Curtis saw auras in much

greater detail than Mary did.

The next day they got in their '39 Chevy and drove to the coast. There they rented a tourist cabin, and

spent ten lazy days strolling the beach, listening to the gulls, watching the surf break on great boulders and

basaltic shelves, and hiking the heavy green forest. He left for D.C. on the 13th, planning to spend a

couple of days inIndiana en route, visiting family.

***

Curtis's parents, Charley and Edna, had had no further contact with the Sisterhood. Not that he'd

asked—all that was behind him, for good—but they'd have mentioned it. Charley's back had gone bad,

and he'd sold the farm to his elder son, Frank. Frank was running beef cattle on it because he couldn't get

enough help to raise crops, and couldn't afford to quit his job as shop foreman at Dellmon's Chevrolet.

Frank Jr., a platoon sergeant, had come back wounded fromFrance , and was training infantry

atFortMcClellan .

He wanted to farm the place when the war was over.

Curtis leftIndiana feeling both good and bad. The farm he'd grown up on had changed, and his parents

had become old in just the three years since he'd last seen them. On the other hand, Frank was looking

out for them, and when Frank Jr. got out of the army, the farm would be in good hands.

2

Job Interview

«^»

At the Pentagon, Macurdy reported to a major in G-2—Intelligence—who looked him over thoroughly

and with disapproval. "TheOSS ," the major said, "has little or no role in the pending invasion ofJapan ,

and some of its personnel, including yourself, are being transferred to other services. You might have

been transferred back to the airborne, but you have twice been transferred out of it as medically unfit.

And the Military Police"—he paused, then added wryly: "to which you once were assigned but in which

you never served, have rejected you on the basis of your subsequent service behavior.

"There is also the problem of your rank. Your captaincy may have been appropriate toOSS activities,

but you lack both the training and the experience to serve as a captain in the airborne or other infantry

organization. They might have been interested in you as a sergeant, but not as a captain."

He gazed disapprovingly at the large young man across the desk. Having read his service record,

Macurdy's surly expression didn't surprise him. "At any rate," he continued, "for some undecipherable

reason you have been assigned to us. Perhaps because of certain very limited similarities of function

between G-2 and theOSS . We have found your personnel records both interesting and puzzling.

Frankly, your history in theOSS is sufficiently odd and undocumented to bring into question your veracity

and your mental health. While the irregularities in your airborne history were impractical to analyze, since

so many of the people with whom you served were subsequently killed or invalided out.

"Your combat record, on the other hand, is well documented, and impressive if brief. Overall, however,

it seems clear that you showed remarkably little respect for standard procedures, and for army ways of

doing things in general. Which you might have gotten away with in the airborne, or"—he grimaced

slightly—"theOSS . But not in military intelligence. Even your injuries and medical-surgical history, after

the traffic accident inOujda , are utterly incompatible with your subsequent assignments and combat

record." The major peered intently at Curtis, as if hoping to perceive the truth. "Afterward, when

reassigned to the Military Police, you avoided the transfer by going AWOL from the hospital, and by

some still undetermined subterfuge, inserted yourself into the 505th Parachute Infantry."

He looked down at the blotter on his desk, then up again. "My commanding officer has instructed me to

ignore all that, since the results redounded to the benefit of the war effort. So now I am faced with the

problem of what duties to assign you. Your alpha score was rather ordinary, and your education ended

with 8th grade. Your courage is beyond question, and your German passed as native." He paused.

"Despite your conspicuously non-German name. But German is now irrelevant. I can send you to military

intelligence school, but by the time you could complete it, we're unlikely to have any need for you."

Again the major paused, his gaze intent. "Tell me, Captain Macurdy, what particular skills do you have

to offer, which we might build upon?"

Macurdy scowled a dark, ugly scowl at the major. "I can see and read auras," he answered. "The halos

people have around them. Tells me all sorts of things about them. And I see better at night than most.

Give me a knife, and I can go around in the dark and kill people without anyone the wiser, till they come

across the body. And I can keep warm in the cold; I can go naked all day, in weather you couldn't stand

in winter uniform." He seemed to sneer, then raised his exceptionally large hands in front of him, opening,

then clenching them. "I can take a horseshoe in either hand and squeeze it shut. I can light fire without

matches. I can go a week easy without eating, but I need water every day." He stopped as if done, then

added: "And I can shoot fireballs out of my hand. Blow a man's head off without hardly a sound."

Without realizing it, the major had leaned back, away from the man across the desk. Now he looked

long and carefully at him.

"Thank you, Captain Macurdy," he said carefully. "That was an interesting and informative list of talents.

Return to your quarters. You'll be notified of our decision."

While limping down the long corridor, Macurdy whistled so cheerfully, people he passed turned and

looked back at him.

3

Making Adjustments

«^»

Curtis's next arrival home was on June 25. He had a medical discharge, based on his old injuries, and

was on thirty-day terminal leave. He'd draw his captain's pay till July 23. As before, Mary met him at the

depot. They went to her little apartment—theirs now—and made love. Afterward he dressed in civvies,

clothes he'd left behind in '42.

"This week," he said, "I'll talk to Fritzi about getting my old job back. If it's going to make any trouble,

I'll settle for sergeant on an undersheriff's pay. And if that's not possible … I'll worry about that when the

time comes.

"Or maybe," he added, watching her intently, "maybe it's time for you and me to go somewhere else."

They'd talked about that eventuality even before they were married, but she'd lived in Nehtaka all her life.

It wouldn't be easy for her.

"Somewhere we're not known," he went on, "where people won't realize I don't age. Back before I

enlisted, maybe four years ago, people already commented on it. Axel Severtson asked me if I'd been

drinking from the Fountain of Youth—that I didn't look any older than when I'd worked for him. And

Lute Halvoy said I better hurry up and start showing my years, or people would call me a draft dodger.

"And tight as manpowers got to be, with so many off in the military, we can go just about anywhere and

find good jobs.

"Think about it. We'll have to do it sooner or later, and in a couple years, when the war's over and all the

guys start coming home, jobs might get hard to find. Might even be another depression."

That night they had supper at Fritzi's again. "When do you want to come back to work?" Fritzi asked.

"How does next week sound? I'd like to lay around a few days." Curtis paused. "Is Harvey Chellgren

still the undersheriff?"

"Ja, and he is a good officer. Maybe a little too political. He likes a little too much to please people. You

will be better. And he knows you got the job coming to you, by law and by right. I told him if you take it,

I will ask the county to approve a raise for him, to what he's getting now, and we will call him senior

deputy. He's got so many friends in the county, the board will probably do it.

"Besides, I'm going to retire in '48, when my term is up. I've already told him I might. He will probably

run for sheriff then. You should too. You'd make a better one than him. Then whoever loses can be

undersheriff. You two always got along good."

The first thing bad that happened to Curtis was the next day, when he went to see Roy Klaplanahoo's

wife and children.Roy , she told him, had been killed inGermany , in Bloody Hiirtgen. With the war in

Europe almost over, and having survivedSicily ,Italy ,France andBelgium .

It was almost predictable, but Curtis was crushed. He went home and wept before his dismayed wife.

Afterward he told her of the battle of Ternass, in Yuulith. Of the thousands killed, all of them his

responsibility, his guilt. How many Roy Klaplanahoos had died there? ButRoy had been his friend.

There'd been a bond, begun in the hobo jungle outside Miles City, Montana, carrying forward to

Severtson's logging camp, and renewed inNorth Africa .

He told her of other things that had happened in Yuulith, too, things he'd never mentioned before. They'd

seemed irrelevant, there'd been no need for her to know, and they'd have stretched her credulity.

"Do you believe me—Mary?" He'd almost called her Spear Maiden! Despite the two being so unlike.

"I believe you, darling," she answered. "I know you too well to doubt your honesty or your sanity. And I

see auras too, you know. I even saw some of your mental pictures when you talked." She paused. "I

want you to tell me more about Yuulith. Sometime soon. Share it with me. I won't be jealous of your

other wives, I promise. I want to know more about them. They must have been good people."

He kissed her gently, and minutes later they went to bed.

That night he awoke from a dream. Of the spear maiden, Melody; he hadn't dreamt of her in years. But

the setting was different than in earlier Melody dreams. This one was on the battlefield at Ternass. They

lay side by side on the grass, talking. Then someone—Varia, he thought—blew a trumpet, and all the

dead got up and brushed themselves off. Roy Klaplanahoo was with them, and the tall voitik corporal,

Trosza, whose killing had laid heavily on his conscience. They all mingled, talking and laughing. Then one

of them came up to him—Lord Quaie, still with the steaming hole in his belly. And he was not hostile. He

was gesturing, his mouth working earnestly, but no words came out.

At that point Curtis wakened. It took awhile to get back to sleep.

He returned as undersheriff the next week, and enjoyed the work again. Loggers, many of them new to

him, continued to flood the taverns and dance halls on Saturday evenings. But his reputation had

preceded him. The Nehtaka Weekly Sentinel had given a brief summary of his military record—primarily

assignments, actions, and military honors—provided by the Army's Office of Public Information. This

inspired men who knew him from before to retell and exaggerate his prewar exploits inNehtakaCounty ,

both as a law officer and a logger.

None of them knew of his exploits in Yuulith, of course.

Two years after Curtis's return, Fritzi had a stroke. In the hospital, slurring from one side of his mouth,

he announced first his appointment of Curtis as acting sheriff, then his own retirement, to take effect at the

end of June. In the hospital, and afterward at his home, Curtis sat daily by the bed, healing Fritzi by hand

and gaze, sometimes with a silent Margaret looking on coldly. It was obvious to Curtis that she distrusted

him.

Ten days later, Fritzi was up and walking, unimpaired. Doc Wesley told Curtis the recovery was a lot

quicker and more complete than he'd expected. "I don't know what it is you do, young man," he said,

"but I wish I could do it."

Afterward Macurdy imagined Wesley in Oz, apprenticing under Arbel, then returning toOregon with his

new skills. But even if the doctor could be talked into it, it wouldn't be possible. He might survive the

transit through the gate—might even retain his sanity—but he'd never make it back.

4

Exposure

«^»

For the 1948 Memorial Day celebration in Nehtaka's Veterans' Park, Macurdy and a number of other

wounded veterans, of two wars, were asked to participate in a "remembrance" ceremony. Curtis agreed

to introduce the other Purple Heart recipients, and to read the list of those who'd died from enemy

action.

He took the duty seriously, and practiced the names to avoid grossly mispronouncing any.

As master of ceremonies, Mayor Louie Severtson introduced Curtis: "Here," he said, "is a young man

who really ain't so young. I've known him since '33—that's fifteen years ago!—when he was new around

here. He was twenty-five then, and didn't hardly look it. He went to war in '42. In '43 he won the

Distinguished Service Cross for exceptional heroism in combat, and later served as anOSS spy in Nazi

Germany, earning a silver star for gallantry. And after all that, at age forty, he still looks like a

twenty-five-year-old."

He turned to Curtis, grinning. "How do you do that, Macurdy?"

It seemed to Curtis his heart had stopped. "It runs in the family," he said. "And clean living helps."

He got through his own presentation, and sat down with a sense of foreboding.

He and Mary had been invited to supper at Fritzi's that evening. Margaret had little to say before and

during the meal, but it was obvious she had something on her mind. After pie, they sat over coffee.

"You mentioned your family," Margaret said. "The sheriff says they farm, back inIndiana ."

"They did. My dad's retired now."

"How old does he look?"

Curtis frowned, but his voice was casual. "About seventy-five, the last time I saw him. He was born in

1872, which makes him seventy-six now. Worked hard all his life."

"Who else in your family looked as young as you do at age forty?"

Curtis's lips had thinned at her question. "My double-great grampa, I'm told. And a great uncle. Actually

I lied when I took the deputy job in '33. I was older. And I lied about my age in the army in '42, afraid

they wouldn't put a man my actual age in a combat unit. I'm forty-four now."

Fritzi stared uncomfortably at his wife. "Margaret …"he began.

She cut him short with a gesture, and another question for Curtis. "I've also heard you were married

before."

"Twice."

That stopped her, but only for a moment. "The sheriff told me something about you. About you and

Mary, before you were married. When he overheard you talking on the front porch. It was almost like

witchcraft, he said, the effect it had on Mary. After that she was changed. She'd always said she'd never

marry. She hadn't even gone out with boys." Curtis's face had turned stony, and his eyes smoldered. "I

learned that from my first wife," he said. "She was a witch. From another world. Does that satisfy you?"

Margaret paled, more from his look than his words, but her eyes did not soften. "He is kidding you,"

Fritzi broke in. His mild accent had thickened, as usual when something upset him. "You had no right to

ask him such questions, like a prosecutor. He was right to feel insulted. Now apologize to him!"

She stared pinch-lipped at her husband, then turned back to Macurdy. It was hatred he saw now, in her

aura and eyes, and when she spoke, she bit the words out. "If I have wronged you, I apologize."

"You did wrong me," Curtis answered. "Frankly, none of it was your business. I've been part of this

community for fifteen years, counting my service time, and I've never wronged anyone here. Not once! I

risk my life as a lawman, and risked it a lot more as a soldier, for my country. I met Mary because I

risked my life, killing the armed man who'd just shot Fritzi and two other men. I've always had better

things to do than to pry in other peoples' private lives."

Abruptly he stood. "Fritzi, I apologize for the upset. You're a good man, one of the best I know. I lived

nine happy years in this house with your mother and daughter. I helped heal your gunshot wound. Helped

heal Klara after she got hit by that car. To me you're more like a second father than a father-in-law.

"I hope this—clash here tonight, doesn't hurt things between you and your wife. But I will not sit down in

this house with her again."

He turned to Mary, who looked distressed. "We'd better go now."

She nodded and got up. "I'm sorry, Papa," she said. "I love you very much. You are welcome in our

home any time." She turned to Margaret. "And so are you, if you care to come. But we will not come

here. This was my home for more than twenty-five years. My happy home. You have made it dark for

me."

Margaret did not get up, but her words and face were as hard as Curtis's had been. "It is not I who

brought darkness to this home. I advise you to rid yourself of that person"—she pointed at

Curtis—"before it is too late."

Curtis and Mary left, Curtis grimly pleased with himself, and at the same time sick with anger. He and

Mary spoke almost not at all as they walked the mile to the small house they'd bought. He did, however,

stop at a liquor store for a pint of bourbon. He wanted something to ease his agitation, and was out of

John Dalmas - The Lion Returns

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